


Or Maybe You Do

by missydogblog



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M, implied humanstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missydogblog/pseuds/missydogblog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems like you've always known him. He's always been right by your side- no matter how many times you fucked up. And you did. Constantly.</p><p>He's always been your rock. Your compass. Your world.</p><p>And when he suddenly isn't next to you, well.</p><p>It's worse than death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is NOT major character death! Sorry if you're into that but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

You’ve never liked how his face looks when he’s angry at you.

Sure, you pretended you did for the first year that you knew him, but once you tasted his smile, his laugh, his loving and genuine, the way his face contorts and reddens hurts you more than a slap ever could.

But you would never change a thing about him. And that includes his short temper.

“I am not asking for that fucking much here! Just once, _just once_ , could you maybe pick up your goddamn shit? I live here I’m not the _fucking housekeeper!_ ”

Maybe your day wasn’t going so well. Maybe you weren’t in the mood to put up with much. Maybe you just wanted to argue.

“Karkat. You knew when you signed up for this that I am not a clean person, alright? I’ll clean up when I get around to it.” You keep your shades on. You know he hates it when you do that.

“Oh really now? And when will that be wiseguy? It must be longer then when you last said that exact thing six _fucking_ weeks ago!”

You don’t like arguing with him. Or maybe you do. Maybe you’re just obsessed with being right.

You never liked that about yourself.

You argue. Jabs are made. You find more things to argue about that don’t really matter.

Your face is hot. Your throat is sore.

You don’t like arguing. Or maybe you do.

It’s Karkat who leaves first; it usually is.

The room rattles behind him as the door slams shut and you watch him leave. There’s a sour taste in your mouth and a tight feeling in your chest.

You both need time. You forgive him before he’s even there to apologise and a return apology is waiting on your tongue. He’s right: you are a mess.

You dutifully wait for him to return to your shared home, looking at the words in one of his romance novels but not really reading. The damn clock keeps ticking.

The clock keeps ticking until it’s 2am and you’re on the couch staring at the ceiling. You tried sleeping without much success. A phone rings. It’s the landline Karkat insisted you bought for business calls- as if professionals calling can somehow sense that the phone you’re using is old as shit.

It never rings.

You don’t remember getting up but you’re standing in front of the counter with the receiver to your ear. “Hello?” Your throat is dry.

“ _Is this David Vantas?_ ” Your heart stops. No one calls you David.

“Yes.” You don’t think she heard you but she continues anyway.

“ _It’s your husband, Karkat. There’s been an accident-_ ”

You don’t hear the rest of her sentence. The sound of your life cracking down the middle is too loud.

You don’t like to argue.

 **  
**Or maybe you do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the good stuff really begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mild claustrophobia

Your husband was hit by a car.

The hospital feels smaller than it looks on the outside. If fact, the tan walls covered in tacky paintings of lilies feel like they inch closer by the minute, suffocating you just a little more.

Your husband was hit. By a car.

You don’t think you’re getting enough oxygen.

A woman in a nurse uniform approaches you. “Are you here for Karkat Vantas?”

You think you’re going to vomit. “Yes.” Is all you can choke out.

 

“He’s just gone into surgery. He’s alive, but I’m afraid he’s in very unstable condition. He may not make it through the night. I’m sorry.”

It physically hurts to breathe, and you find yourself making quiet, shaky gasps. “Thank you.” you choke more than speak.

The nurse gives you a sympathetic look and walks away.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Things like this just don’t happen; not to Karkat.

Karkat couldn’t be killed by something as petty as a car crash.

An hour later a second nurse approaches you and leads you to a separate waiting room. She says you can’t visit him until he’s in stable condition, and advises you to go home until they call you back.

You tell her you’re not going anywhere.

To your right is a woman with graying hair and eyes glued to her phone screen. You can see tear streaks on her cheeks. She has nice hands. You think in a different scenario you’d have liked to draw them.

To your left is a family of three, all holding hands with their heads bowed.

You haven’t thought about prayer since a very, very long time ago.

Moving slowly, like you were underwater; you clasp your hands in front of you, close your eyes, and pray. You pray for the first time in years.

You don’t pray to anyone in particular; just anyone who cared to listen. You pray for your husband- fighting for his life just a few yards away from you.

You pray he’s not still mad at you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, bent over your hands in a tiny room, but when you finally open your eyes you find your sight blurry and gross crust on your eyelashes. Your nose is running and your throat hurts like a bitch.

Rose always said crying never suited you. You have to agree with her.

 

You’re grateful for your shades.

You sniffle and glance at the clock. It’s almost 4am. The day’s events have finally caught up to you, and it’s the purest form of utter exhaustion you’ve felt in a while.

You settle back in your seat and close your eyes with a sigh.

 

By the time the next nurse would come in, you’d be asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my friend Shenann- hospital knowledge extrordinare


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betchu thought I'd never update this huh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda rly hate this chapter bc i wrote it forever ago but I really wanted to get this show on the road so. Super short chapter ur welcome

You don’t think you’ve ever dreamed this clearly in your life.

 

From where you lie, you can make out every last detail; from the shadows cast along the ceiling to the color of Karkat’s hair as the last light of day hits it.

 

This dream is also a memory.

 

You hardly ever dream of memories, but you would recognize this moment in a heartbeat. Maybe that’s why it’s so clear. You know immediately that this was almost exactly a month ago.

 

“Kark- _aahht!_ ” You stifle a moan. From your window you can see it’s just twilight; the last traces of golden sunset have been wiped from the sky. The kisses Karkat trails along your jaw are featherlight and sweet as bourbon. 

 

There’s nothing particularly poetic about how you have sex with Karkat. It’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s wonderful, it’s-

 

It’s you and Karkat. A tangled mess of limbs; gross and sweaty and panting but alive and happy and still as in love as the day you first voiced it to him. 

 

You let out a noise somewhere between a peep and a yelp. You and Karkat share breathy laughter as you blush. He’s still laughing when he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth. 

 

He kisses you slow; and above all else, you can only think about how grateful you are you married this man.

 

The night overall passes in a blur. You cry out and see fireworks behind your eyelids. You both clean up quickly, not even bothering with bedsheets in the mid-August heat. 

 

Beneath layers of love and bliss there’s a pounding in the back of your skull saying  _ wrong, wrong, something is very very wrong. _

 

You enjoy the presence of your husband’s warmth beside you- not quite cuddling because of the heat, but still a half-hearted embrace. But you can still feel he’s tense. You search what you can see of his face and rub his back in slow circles.

 

“Hey.” you whisper hoarsely. “What’s wrong?” 

 

He doesn’t respond for a tense moment. Eventually he wordlessly leans up and kisses you. “I love you.”

 

You try to give him your best ‘concerned husband’ look. “I love you too, now what’s got your panties in a twist?” You crack a smirk. He doesn’t. 

 

You’ve never known Karkat to beat around the bush. The fact that he hasn’t said what’s bothering him already is enough to put you on extreme high alert. Which is why you’re not surprised when he gets right to the point.

 

“Dave. I want to raise a child. With you.”

 

>>

 

In the next instant you see your husband in the living room, rearranging his movie collection for the second time. He often rearranges his impressive pile of shitty movies when he’s stressed, and you know better than to interrupt him as you watch quietly from the kitchen counter. 

 

You love to watch the intense concentration on his face as he meticulously places each title in their respective alphabetical order. His arms move almost mechanically as Groundhog Day slides next to Failure to Launch without much hesitation. 

 

He’s almost halfway finished when your ears pick up the soft rumble of the FedEx driving up the road, and from the way Karkat’s hand momentarily stills over the next title, you know he hears it too. Quietly, as to not disturb him, you close your laptop and make your way to the front door. 

 

Your steps are oddly heavy and loud, and had your mailbox always been this far away? By the time the metal hinge squeaks loudly you feel like your heart is hurting but you’re not sure why. Your hands move without asking for permission and suddenly you’re looking through your mail. Your stomach flutters slightly as you scan the addresses labeled on the envelopes. Labour department, bills, coupons, bills, bills and- 

 

You feel your heart leap as you spot familiar words neatly typed on the paper. You bite your lip trying to keep a neutral expression while a whirlwind of emotions tumble in your stomach. You keep yourself from sprinting and walk in a controlled stride back to your door. 

 

As soon as you walk inside you drink in the sight of Karkat, expression completely unguarded as he looks at you wide-eyed from the floor. You can read the question he’s asking from his face as easily as if he had spoken it. After a beat you can tell he’s holding his breath. You don’t realize it; but you are too. 

 

And as you read the question in his eyes, you can’t help but give him an answer; a small smile slowly breaks out across your face. The noise he makes is somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

 

He nearly trips over his feet as he scrambles to stand up. He takes three steps towards you, the front of his shirt clutched tightly in his fists. “Did-” he gives a small cough when his voice cracks. “Did it come?” It’s the quietest thing you’ve heard him say in a long time. 

 

You can’t help it; your smile morphs into a splitting grin and you start nodding, feeling giddines set in. You barely have time to hear the short yelp he gives before suddenly there are arms around you and your laughter is muffled into your husband’s neck. You squeeze your eyes shut and your arms tighter around him and you just breathe him in. 

 

A coldness grips you harshly as you watch yourself walk to the kitchen, letter in hand. You both sit side-by-side, hand-in-hand at the kitchen counter; re-reading the envelope to make sure it’s really true: St. Marvin’s Adoption Agency- to Karkat and David Vantas.

 

You both quickly realize it’s very difficult to open a letter with one hand. Karkat laughs, but instead of releasing his hold on your hand, he uses his free hand to help you remove the encased letter.

 

You watch helplessly. There’s nothing you can do as you're forced to relive this moment.

 

You watch your face. Watch as your eyes read the words written on the paper, watch the exact moment you see the bright red ink stamped harshly across the front. You watch as you read the words you knew were always a possibility but didn't dare think you would ever actually read.

 

“We regret to inform you your request for adoption has been denied…”

 

>>

 

You hate Karkat's face when he’s angry. It creates a hideous sticky feeling in your gut you can’t stand that even when he’s calm again lingers around the edges for a few hours.

 

But if you hate Karkat being angry, it  _ destroys _ you to see Karkat cry.

 

He cries silently, whatever gasps or barely-there sobs are muffled by your chest as you hold him close. You don’t even notice your shirt getting wet as you stare silently at the letter on the counter.

  
You didn’t cry then, for Karkat’s sake, but when you open your eyes to the dingy gray hospital room you find your cheeks damp.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be up soon :V


End file.
